


Lost, Found, & Collected.

by acornswords



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Explicit Language, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Italian Mafia, Self-Insert, Violence, dadbot ratchet, dadchet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornswords/pseuds/acornswords
Summary: Ratchet somehow finds himself bruised and dented - left to a scrapyard in the dead-ends of New Jersey. After getting a fix-up, he finds himself a new job of being a  "Mafia Transport" vehicle - whatever that is. Coincidentally, his first day on the job the Chief Medical Officer stumbles upon a mission he just can't refuse: "Protect Hope."[More tags to be added as the story takes progresses.]





	1. Fix Up.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story is just my guilty pleasure. I'm happy to share it on here, I know there's not a lot of platonic content and I just find it the most entertaining to write about, and I've always had a soft spot for Ratchet being a Dadbot haha. Anyways, if ya' like it - I'm glad! I have a lot of plans for this writing and I'll be writing them out and updating from time to time, so stay tuned.

  1. The tow truck’s tires kick the dirt road's dust into Michael Lambert’s lungs as it brings in his latest buy. Coughing the congestion away, he greets the burly driver with a humoring smirk as he trudges to see the towed vehicle.  The burly man, Todd McGiver, pats the helm of his own truck, and makes his way next to Lambert.



“Not the prettiest buy, I reckon,” McGiver chuckles, placing his hand on Lambert’s shoulder.

Lambert moves away from McGiver’s touch and moves to place his hand upon the windshield of his purchase, as he clears some of the dust and he inquires, “Engine work?”

“Didn’t bother to check. Thought you should do the honors.”

Lambert grunts, and reaches for the door handle, only to be stopped by McGiver’s question, “Out of all the cars, trucks, and SUVs on the market – why in the Sam Hill did ya’ buy this rusted junk?”

Lambert lets his hand fall to his side, “This ‘rusted junk’ is a fix up, and with that fix up and a retouch with a wonderful new paintjob, McGiver, this 1990 Ford Econoline e350 will bring us all the cash you could _ever_ dream of.”

McGiver laughs, a hearty laugh but one with a twinge of mockery, after a stare from Lambert, McGiver clears his throat, straightens, and asks: “Jesus, Mike.  What has gotten into you? How could you look me in my blue ol’ eyes and tell me that some rusted, dusted _ambulance_ is the key to our ‘business’?”

Lambert huffs, opens the door, and turns the key in the ignition – a rumble of power rips through the frame of the ambulance and its lights flicker on only momentarily.  As the vehicle shakes, Lambert’s mouth curls in to a grim, venomous smile. He steps away from the rattling ambulance, and places his hand onto McGiver’s shoulder. Giving McGiver’s shoulder a tight gripping, his smile uncoils into a snarl as he states: “Because, _Todd_ , no one is suspecting an ambulance to be transporting our kinda _cargo_. Now, unhook my purchase, bring it to my workshop, and by high-time next week, inform all of our associates of our new ride – and their new means of transport.”

With a gulp and a nod of his head, McGiver is released from Lambert’s grip. Scrambling to the still rumbling ambulance, McGiver unhooks the vehicle from his tow truck, seats himself in the ambulance’s driver seat, and begins to drive it to Lambert’s workshop.  The property Lambert owns is a large one, filled to the brim with automotive parts, trash, and oil puddles. A cheap plot of land in the deadlands of New Jersey, close enough to the congested inner-cities to establish business, yet far enough away that no one questions anything.  Some consider it a junkyard, but it is not one most know or use. Not that Lambert minds, more attention to his land, more people begin to question. The parts and automotive shells placed throughout his land are from vehicles he purchased, scrapping for parts and overturning cars to certain “higher-ups”. The transportation business is what Lambert works for, and who he works for (mainly) is that of the Ricci Family. A mafia family that is spread throughout New Jersey and New York, carriers of many trades and scandals but most recently into the growing market of heroine distribution. All intricacies and all illegal, the Ricci Family has been using Lambert’s Car Services for years.

As the ambulance’s exhaust grieves with every rolling motion, Lambert raises his garage door slightly high to accommodate the ambulance’s rear. And once the entire vehicle is within the walls of Lambert’s workshop, the garage door is lowered, and the fix up begins.

Hours were spent on the tuning of the ambulance, and as days and nights past the grin on Lambert’s face continued to grow.  He was going to be the genius the Ricci Family could not deny, who has even thought of using an old, decommissioned ambulance as a means of illegal drug trafficking? Not any of the other competing Families, nor the inner-city gangs – No, it was only just Lambert, and he was proud of his idea.  His work with the ambulance’s engine and tires was done, and now all he had to do was repaint and ship it off to Dominick Ricci, and a hefty sum of cash would soon be placed discreetly in his mailbox.

And as the final coats of paint dried, Lambert left his workshop to make the call to Dominick. With in the darkness of the garage, silence incases every corner. The ambiance of the garage is comforting, that is until its shattered by the sound of the ambulance’s engine revving to life.  Its newly replaced headlights flash on, dispersing the darkness. The engine stutters, only for a moment, and a voice grumbles:

“Where in Primus’ name am I?”

The engine of the ambulance roars again, and the voice continues, “Haven’t felt this good in a while…don’t change the fact I have no way of knowing where I am.”

The vehicle’s rearview mirrors move as if to look around it’s enclosure, and just as it was about to accelerate its tires to escape, Lambert walks into the garage.  Looking at the ambulance with a tilt of his head, he says his thoughts aloud: “Did I leave you on? Can’t remember – Guess I was too excited at getting ya finally fixed”

The ambulance’s voice makes no reply, and its engine continues a slow and steady hum. Lambert goes to its door, turns the key and the ambulance’s engine dies out. “No need to burn fuel, Dominick will be needing you by the end of the night,” and just as quick as he came in, Lambert left the ambulance in the same distilled darkness. 

***

“So, ya tellin’ me – me _and_ the old man – that the best way to transport the new goods is usin’ this ambulance here?” Dominick crosses his arms and stares skeptically at the ambulance. 

“Yes, even more so if you use it during the night – however during the day is fine as well. No one, especially cops, take a second glance at ambulances and I’ve _never_ see ‘em pull one over, have you?” Lambert retorts.

“No, but most aren’t unmarked! And whatta ‘bout _other_ ambulances! They can call us in on just their suspicion! _Especially_ because this thing ain’t registered!”

Lambert growls, and begins to pace the room, until finally and idea strikes him, “Remember Vinny?”

Dominick rolls his eyes, “Vinny Rossi? Vinny Russo? Columbo? Bianchi? There’s alotta Vinnies pal, be more specific!”

“De Luca! Vinny De Luca! He used to be big into forging documents and shit, remember?”

“Course, got me my first fake ID, and passport. What’s ya point?” Dominick huffs.

“My point, Dominick, is that he can forge a fake ID for this ambulance! A code in their systems that can override their verifications, so our dear ambulance is valid in all counties, despite being unmarked.”

Dominick tilts his head, and ponders on the idea, “Logical in theory, but have you met my cousin Vinny? He ain’t a real hacker, just a forger!”

“Lucky for you, Dominick, I know just the guy.” With a quirk of his lips, Lambert leaves the garage, with Dominick behind him, to make a very important call.

 ***

“So, I’ve got your ambulance registered in all the counties throughout New Jersey, and the Big Apple - upstate NY gonna take a bit longer, maybe a month or two, but I’ll get it, of course if Vinny continues to help with the credentials.” A filtered voice comes through the phone’s receiver as Lambert sits within the cab of the ambulance. 

“Of course, the Ricci’s and I are in your debt, Gerard” Lambert’s voice drips with satisfaction, and the passenger door opens to a smirking Dominick as he climbs in and situates himself. 

 “Big words, might hold you up to ‘em, Lambert. Till next time.” And with that the phone call cut off, and Lambert tucks his cell away. He turns the key into the ignition and backs out of his garage, and starts down the road to their first pick up.

“So, why are ya’ comin’ again, Lambert?  You fix the transport, not ride it.” Dominick relaxes in his seat, and looks disinterestedly out the window.

“I wanna make sure the transport holds up, make sure that _you_ don’t blow this up for me. This could be a huge business, ambulance trafficking transport and such, need to see it first hand working.”  Lambert keeps his eyes on the road, and the conversation ends with Dominick’s “Fair enough”.

As they roll up to the run-down apartment, the two men leave the ambulance running as they leave to meet their contact. The ambulance waits in the silence of the street for several minutes, the street lights flicker and all that can be heard is the soft grumbling of a voice, “Comm. To Optimus Prime. Optimus? Optimus, can you hear me? I’m still located on planet Earth, more specifically on the East Coast? Optimus, if you can hear me, or even if you get this message later, know that I will try my best to find you and the team, but until then I may have to stay undercover with these humans.  Please, if you are hearing this – send your coordinates immediately over Comm. I’d open another receiver, but I fear the Deceptions, more specifically Soundwave, will be tracking any open links. Until then, I’ll be listening, Old Friend.”

And just as the voice quiets, the two men bustle out of the doors of the apartment with large crates, and following behind them is one woman. They open the ambulance’s back cab, and place the cargo of crates within the holding, then the woman climbs within the cab, and sit against the crates with a _thump_.

“Ay, watch where ya’ put ya’ weight! That’s the new shit, and we don’t need no complications” Dominick growls.

“Bite. Me.” The woman mumbles. The ambulance’s engine seems to sputter – the sound almost mimicking that of a chuckle – until Dominick climbs into the cab and hits the woman across the face.

“Now, you listen here, _tramp,_ ” with the last word Dominick spits on the ground of the cab, “Your daddy set you up as payment – now you seem to be a little damaged but the way your goin’ it won’t matter. While the Ricci’s pride ourselves in Drug Trafficin’, we ain’t no strangers to _human._ Daddy couldn’t pay us with enough of the good stuff, so he offered you.  Now, as Ricci _property_ , your gonna shut ya’ fuckin’ mouth or I’m gonna fuckin’ shut it for ya.” And with a growl Dominick pushes the woman’s shoulder hard enough to topple her over. As her back hits the edge of one of the crates with a _thwrack_ , Dominick slams the cab doors and makes his way to the front.

With a roar of the ambulance’s engine, the woman looks outside of the windows of the cab’s door, and as the glow of each streetlight passed, she quietly hums herself to sleep. As she lays her head upon the cab’s metal flooring, she swears the engine hums along with her.

***

The drive Dominick and Lambert took to deliver the cargo was 5 hours, after delivering the cargo to its destination, a gas station owned by Antonio Ricci, the two men begin to drive to their next destination, the drop off point for the woman who lays in the back of the ambulance cab.

The woman is sprawled upon the floor of the cab, beaten for mocking Dominick, and voice hoarse for screaming at each passing car that was viewed in the windows. Her song had died in her throat, but the metal she lays upon was not as cold as it once was.  She curls herself into a position, and tears stream down her sore face and pool on the metal flooring. She holds onto her stomach, stroking it, trying to find words of comfort. Dominick, in only this sense, was merciful when he began his beatings. She is carrying, and to him no “real man,” would ever hurt a kid, even if the mother was “a dirty fuckin’ useless whore”.

Just as the last hour of the ride was ending, and the destination of drop off for the woman came near, the woman begins to scream.  Not out of fear, but actual pain.  The two men pull off into an empty road, and open the cab doors.  Writhing in pain, the woman’s tears stream down her agonized face.

“Tell me, tell me this fuckin’ broad ain’t havin’ her fuckin’ kid right fuckin’ now” Dominick grasped his forehead, and his eyes dart between Lambert and the woman.

“Christ” Lambert lifts himself into the cab and turns the woman over, “Come on, Dominick, get ya’ ass in here! Can’t deliver her bleeding and cryin’!”

“Can’t deliver her fuckin’ kid either, Lambert! What the fuck, what the fuck! No way I’m gettin’ all up in that broad’s bleeding and being a fucking nurse! No fuckin’ way man!”

“Are you fuckin’ – Alright, fine Dominick, _I’ll_ deliver the kid, but at least fuckin’ get in here and hold. Her. Down.” Lambert grits the last words, and Dominick scrambles into the cab and grips the woman’s wrists and hold her down.

“You fuckin’ worthless bitch, couldn’t wait to pop ya fuckin’ kid until we got ya’ to the drop off, could ya’?” Dominick sneers and through her gasps and tears the woman was able to quiet usher a “Fuck, you.”

Before Dominick could retort, Lambert yells, “Dominick sit‘er up! We need this kid out before anyone hears the fuckin’ screaming”

“Lambert, we’re in a fuckin’ ambulance, don’t think anyone gonna question us too much.”

After 8 grueling hours, a small scream can be heard echoing off the walls of the ambulance’s cab.  The infant, born two weeks early, wails as its hands can barely flex or grip.  The woman, exhausted, calls for her child and Lambert hands the babe over.  She sits against the walls of the cab, dried tears and sweat cake her skin, her eyes drop, her lips cracked and bleeding. She smiles at the child, her chest heaving too hard, and she softly coos at her child. 

Lambert stares just for a moment, and calls Dominick to discuss what to do next.  Left alone with her babe, the woman, eyes barely in focus, her breath trembling, whispers in a cracked voice, “If anyone can hear me, if anyone is listening, please, please, protect this babe. She’s, she’s the greatest accomplishment, greatest joy I’ve experienced. Please, if your listening, someone, _anyone_ , please. Please.”

The baby continues to wail, and the all too frail mother coos for it to quiet, and just as she begins to hum, the baby tries to grasp her hair, but fails. The mother’s hum begins to falter, yet it is accompanied by the hum of the engine of the ambulance. The mother smiles, her eyes closing, and she slowly slips onto the warm metal flooring of the cab, she curls to her child, her breath trembling, as she whispers, “Protect Hope”.


	2. Runaways.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of finding Hope, how Ratchet handles his new mission, and the start of life on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is a softsparked dad so far and I love him.

“Is she…holy fuck, is she?” Dominick begins to pace outside the ambulances doors, while Lambert leans over the woman’s frame, checking her pulse.

“Yeah, Dominick, she’s gone. Fuckin’ hell.” Lambert sighs, and collects the babe that's bundled against the mother’s chest. The babe whines, but settles down and lulls back into sleep.

“Aw shit! Aw _shit,_ Lambert what are we gonna _do!_ We got a dead broad and a fucking baby!” Dominick’s panicked yelling causes said babe to stir, which causes Lambert to whip and hiss at Dominick to quiet him and his “shithole of a mouth”.

“We are gonna have to ditch the body, and as for the baby,” Lambert looks down at the sleeping babe, a soft gurgling passes its lips, “As for the baby, we are gonna have to improvise – any sources looking for kids? Good prices?”

As the words left Lambert’s mouth, the engine of the ambulance rippled with power, a roar that filled the empty road with what most would call a “growl”.  Dominick yelps, jumping two feet back and shivers, all while exclaiming: “Fuck! OF FUCKING COURSE! Lambert, Lambert, pal – she’s here, she’s fucking pissed she fucking died and now she’s fucking haunting the ambulance! My ma tellin’ me since I was young about this kinda stuff, buddy, pal, we got to fuckin’ go. We got to ditch the ambulance, the broad, and the bambino, oh Lambert we have to fuckin’ go!”

With the sound of the engine, and Dominick’s ramblings, the babe wakes and looks up towards Lambert, who is yelling and Dominick to “settle down or [I’ll] fuckin’ rip ya’ fuckin’ legs off!” and then towards the ambulance cab, where a figure lays sullen and still, crumpled and pale on the metal floor of the rumbling ambulance. The child adjusts itself, stretching her arms, but her hands not able to flex or grip the air.  The pain of the joints within her hands causes her to cry, and Lambert stills and looks down at her tearful face. He blinks, and looks towards the cab. The woman’s body is laid on the cab floor, her legs stained with blood, her eyes closed, and her lips only slightly parted. Lambert sighs, holds the screaming child closer, and walks towards the front cab.  He opens the passenger door, lays the yelling child on the seat, rolls the window down, and shuts the door.  He makes his way to the back of the ambulance, drags the woman’s body off the cab floor, and lifts her over his shoulder.

“Dominick, come on.  We gotta bury her here.  No need to stink up the ambulance” The two find themselves going into the woods that surround the empty road they’ve pulled into.  And the ambulance again finds itself alone, in the stillness of the street. But, the silence that usually accompanies the stillness is lost, for the sound of a screaming child pierces every fixture in the ambulances structure. The engine of the ambulance beings of to steady into a hum, and ghostly resemblance of the song the woman who laid in the cab sang.  The babe quiets, and begins to coo, and is greeted with a soft grumble of a voice:

“Hello, little bitlet, I’m Ratchet. Your mother asked me to watch you, and I intended fully on doing so. As CMO of the Autobots, I swear to protect and care for you.”

The child, eyes closing, seems to find comfort in the rumbling, grumbling voice of the ambulance, so Ratchet continues to speak, lulling the child to sleep. “Your mother claims your designation to be Hope, so welcome to the World, little Hope. Fitting name, fitting name indeed.”

After an hour, the two men return, load into the ambulance, and take off and away from the empty road.

***

“I’m gona take the kid” Dominick states, with no waver in his voice. Lambert looks to him, scoffs, and continues to drive.

“You hold her for an hour and already you got baby fever, huh?” Lambert takes a turn, and heads to the Ricci Estate, to deliver the ambulance, the goods, Dominick, and apparently the baby.

“I mean, sure, the mother was a whore, a scum, but this kid, this baby, she’s just…she’s good.  And I was thinkin’ ya’ know, my cousin, Adriana, she can’t have kids – and now she’s marrin’ some douche with a history, she needs something that’ll not be a disappointment…And this kid? This kid looks like a winner,” Dominick turns to Lambert, who in return is giving him an incredulous stare, “What ya’ lookin’ at?”

Lambert shakes his head, “You’re just gona take this kid and give it to the highest paying bidder, aren’t ya?”

Dominick laughs, an embarrassed “Ya’ got me” slips through his lips, and it’s all it takes for the ambulance to skid into a halt. Dominick screams, Lambert curses, and the baby coos. The ambulance, after a hood check, refuses to move – stalled in the middle of the road, and the baby in the cab continues to babble at the static that is coming through the radio.

“Fuckin’ thing is haunted man, and I’m fucking sick of it! You know what, I’ll tell the old man that the ambulance gig is a good investment – ya got your signage and endorsement.  But, fuck this ambulance in particular, you need a priest – a fucking monsignor, the fucking pope! To get this fucking bitch’s spirit outta it! Get us a ‘nother ambulance, and we’re fine, but we are _not_ takin’ this one.”

With a roll of his eyes, Lambert complies, and finally the ambulance complies into moving along when Lambert states that he was taking the baby along with him if he had to take the “haunted” ambulance with him.

“Why? Fuck the kid gotta do with it?” Dominick asks, cradling the child.

“You don’t think the mother’s ‘ghost’ goin’ to be pissed as all hell if you take her fuckin’ kid?”

Dominick paled and looked at the kid, and nodded with a “She’s all yours.”

***

  1. “Kid! Kid, where the fuck are you!?” Lambert yells from his front door, and just as he huffs, a small mop of curly hair pops out from the garage door.



“I wana see Ratch!”

Lambert grumbles, and stalks towards the garage where the kid was standing, “What the fuck is with you and this damned ambulance?”

“Ratch is m’ friend!” A toothy grin with a lopsided smile gleams at Lambert, whose frown deepens.

“If an ambulance is your friend, we got problems. Well, you got enough problems with those fucked up hands of yours.”

The small girl hides her hands behind her back, her smile disappearing and turning into a frown. She looks back towards the ambulance, then to Lambert, and says, “Ratch said they make m’ special.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, grabs the girl’s arm and begins to drag her away from the garage, “Yeah, sure he does. Fuckin’ kids.”

As Lambert trudges along, the girl turns towards the garage, where the headlights of the ambulance are light and peeking through the door, and she smiles her toothy grin and waves goodnight.

Within the garage, Ratchet sees his bitlet get placed inside the house, and his engine rumbles that mimicking a sigh.  “Comm. To Optimus Prime. It’s been five years, silence included. I don’t know if your still alive, I hope you are, by the Allspark. If you get this, just like the 1,510 messages I’ve sent, you should know that the girl and I are ok. He, erm, _human-charge_ , as much as I _loathe,_ is taking decent care of her, while I am continuing my watch.  Conditions on her hands are treatable, yet the _organic scum_ of a charge seems unaware. No Deception, or Autobot activity anywhere near my location. And Primus, as much as I would love to search high and low for you, I just _can’t_ Optimus. I’m all that this bitlet _has_. Surely you understand, right? When she’s old enough, in time, I’ll come and look for you all, but until then she’s just, so _small_ , born from absolute disaster, and still able to chat, to smile and laugh. Optimus, if you ever get to hear this, you have to know that this child is what her designation suggests, she really is Hope.”

***

It was one night in late January, Ratchet was asleep and was awoken when his door handle was being touched and yanked. A small, hush whisper of a voice could be received from his audials. “Ratch! Please let m’ in! M’ ‘ands hurt and Mr. L is being mean ‘n’ ‘cary ‘n’ I, I!” the little voice broke into a sob and Ratchet immediately opened his doors, and the small girl climbed in, body shaking as sobs wracked through her small frame. Ratchet began to hush her into comfort, and she quieted a little, bringing her hands closer to her chest.

“Little bitlet, the temperature is currently 35 degrees and you are not in suitable clothing to be exposed to the weather,” a small “M’ sorry, Ratch” left the little girl’s lips, and Ratchet’s engine heaved a slow sigh, and he placed his heating on, the girl smiled and hugged the steering wheel. Ratchet let out a soft chuckle, and the girl wiped her eyes.

“Mr. L’s friend is comin’ ‘n’ he says I’m not allowed to come ‘n’ see ya’ any’ore Ratch” The girl mumbles and she leans back into the seating.

“That so?” Ratchet grumbles, “And why is that?”

 The little girls lip quivers, and her tears well in her eyes again, “He says, he says I gota go wit’ his friend. They are gona take me to a new place, Ratch, I don’t wan’ go, Ratch please don’t let ‘m go!”

Ratchet’s engine _roars_ , and the little girl curls further into herself, “You, under _no_ circumstance, can leave my sight – let alone go with this _friend_!”

“M’ sorry, Ratch!” the girl cries, her face flushing red.

“No, no, sweetspark, it’s not your, it’ never, oh _sweetspark_ , don’t cry! I’ll fix it, you know I can! It’s my specialty to fix things,” Ratchet comforts the girl, and she looks up from her arms, and smiles her toothy, now teary grin.

“You can fix anything, Ratch!”

“You bet Primus’ spark I can, kid. Now, what can we do…” And then, Ratchet was struck with an idea. An idea that was supposed to happen later in the girl’s life, but in such a world – sometimes plans are rushed and needed early.

“Sweetspark, how do you feel about going with me, and leaving Mr. L and his ‘friends’?” Ratchet asked cautiously, and the girl looked in his rear-view mirror thoughtfully.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you’d want, but most definitely away from here.”

“Ratch, is Mr. L a bad guy?”

Ratchet sighs, “Yes, and when your older I’ll explain _how_ he’s a criminal, but for now, yes – he is a ‘bad man’.”

Silence fills the cab for some somber moments, when the girl’s voice softly whispers: “Ratch? Can you take me to see my ma?”

Ratchet stills, a silence fills the garage. Then, a door creaking open, and the girl gasps, holds her mouth as her tears begin to fall again.  The footsteps near the ambulance’s door, and Ratchet’s engine roars with defense as the door is ripped open before he can lock it. Lambert stands, eyes slit with rage as he peers at the mop of curly hair.

“You, are just as _stupid_ as your _fucking_ mother,” at that, the girl curls into herself, whimpers a small “Ratch, please,” and just before Lambert is able to reach in to grab the girl – the door slams on his arm.  Lambert screeches in pain, and the girl is curled so tightly into herself and sobbing so loudly that she pays no attention to Lambert falling to his garage floor and writhing in pain.  Ratchet’s engine roars to life, his tires squeal as he peels out of the garage. Lambert’s yelling slowly becoming lost in the gusts of wind.

As Ratchet frantically finds his way out and way from the town Lambert’s home is placed, he tries to comfort the grieving girl in his driver’s seat. “Sweetspark, listen to me, none of this, none of his anger is your fault. I know your scared, that he’s scary, but I’m here for you. I’m _here_ and I _always_ will be. Don’t worry, Hope, please, I’ll always be with you, I’ll always protect you. I should’ve left with you when you were first born, but you were so _small_ and I have no idea how humans, let alone their sparklings, function. You, _Primus_ , I wish I could have given you _so much more_. Oh, sweetspark, I’m so sorry.”

The girl sniffed and shook her head. She wiped her tears and patted Ratchet’s steering wheel, “Not, not ya’ fault, Ratch. Ya’ my best friend.” And through red, tear stained cheeks, that toothy, lopsided grin spilt across her face. Ratchet’s engine in return hums the tune the girl had been listening to since she was a babe, and she slowly sink into the seat while Ratchet continues until morning.

When Hope awoke, she found herself looking at a lake. The glimmer of the sun reflecting off the ripples of water made her eyes widen with wonder and excitement. She squealed with glee and kicked her feet out and back and forth against the seat, causing Ratchet to awaken as well and his engine to sputter alive.

“Oh, Primus!” He chuckled as the small girl frantically leapt out of his seats and ran towards the water, “Hope! HOPE! You can’t, ah slaggit!” Ratchet’s engine grumbles as he drives toward the girl, who is wobbling towards the slow-moving waves that bustle onto the sands. “Hope, please, its dangerous! I suggest your pedes only, oh slag, what’s the word again? Oh, feet! Feet only, bitlet! Doctor’s orders.”

The ambulance rolls just far enough to watch but not engage, and see how absolutely _thrilled_ his small charge is. Her laughs as she splashes the water with her feet and hands is spark-warming, and he takes this moment to bask in the sunlit shore to Comm. for what he counts as the 1,570 Comm. message he has left.  “Comm. to Optimus Prime. Optimus,” He heaves a sigh, “Well, we have left her human, and it seems to be only us on this journey. I hope to hear from you, oh, slaggit who am I kidding, Optimus, _I need_ to hear from you! Are you ok? Where is the team? Where in these thousands of Universes have you found yourself _now!_ You bolt-headed, slaggin’ fool! How come your Comm. isn’t working?! I swear, when I find you, I’m gonna –“

A first, static interrupts his communication link, and then a rasp, then a clearer rasp. “Ra – chet. Comm. to Ra – Chet…Pr – me. Wh – re are y – u? Ra – chet. Co – me Ho – me,” and then the transmission cuts, and silence presumes. Ratchet, in those stilled moments, tries to track in transmission, but with complications and weak connection, Ratchet sighs in defeat. He grumbles, his engine sputtering as he calls for Hope to come back to his front cab, as they take off from the lake to figure out what to do.

Ratchet’s engergon levels were increasing falling lower as he rips through the highways, and Hope was softly singing along to the radio channel that Ratchet put on.  As he pulls into a rest stop near the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, he turns the music down and says to Hope, “Sweetspark, do you remember how I told you I’m a little, erm, different?”

Hope nods her head, “Different planet, like E.T.!”

Ratchet’s engine hums in agreement, “Right, E.T., well, because I come from a different planet I have certain abilities. And one of them is this,” and just as he finishes his sentence, hum of electricity fills the cab and a man is sitting in the driver’s seat next to Hope. A middle aged, ruggedly handsome man with bright blue eyes. His hair slicked back and his eyebrows slightly furrowed, the man turns towards Hope, whose eyes are wide with shock, and her hands slightly tremble. The man speaks, it’s a soft grumbling voice that Hope’s heart eases to, “Hope, sweetspark, this is a HoloMatter, my kind made this programming, so we can live here,” Hope reaches towards Ratchet’s face, and his eyes crinkle with a smile and leans into the touch. The warmth of the HoloMatter makes Hope break into a smile, and she squeals with glee as Ratchet leans in and kisses the top of her curly hair.

Ratchet, in those moments, could have the sensations of touch transmitted to his Alt. mode, and his engine revs with content. He lays his hands out, and as Hope’s small hands lays on his palms, Ratchet stills. He watches as her hands explore his own, tracing the HoloMatter’s palms, and finally entwining their fingers. Ratchet smile quivers, his HoloMatter fizzes, and Hope looks up worriedly at him, “Ratch, ‘as wrong?”

With a sigh, one filled with emotions the Autobot CMO hadn’t felt in eons, his HoloMatter stabilizes, and he looks at the small girl with a smile, “Nothing at all, sweetspark, just happy,” Hope smiles and jumps across the cab to hug the HoloMatter, and Ratchet lets out a chuckle.

“Now, I’m going to take us in here, so we can both get fuel,” and after opening up the door, his HoloMatter stepped out and helped Hope out of the cab as well.  The two made their way into the rest stop’s Welcome Center, where serval concession stands of food and clothing. Ratchet paused, and observed how the humans used their credit cards as a way of obtaining their means, and with a quick scan of research, and a few lines of programing, Ratchet’s HoloMatter reached into his pocket to find his own ‘credit card’.  The card was blue, the lettering Cybertronian, and Ratchet grunted as he was able to code his card, so it can process with out struggle in the human machinery.  Ratchet held Hope’s hands as they wander through the welcome center, he finds clothing fit for her – hoodies that say, “NEW JERSEY: THE GARDEN STATE” or just simply, “THE JERSEY SHORE” -  he lets Hope pick which ones she wants, she opts for the white and red colored ones, stating “I wan’ match, Ratch!” Ratchet smiles, pays for the new clothes, and moves on to find suitable substance for his charge.

After stocking up on granola bars, simple fruits, and _only_ two candy bars – despite Hope’s protest – Ratchet’s HoloMatter ushers the small child into the front cab, and makes his way to the driver’s seat. Once seated, he rolls the ambulance into the gas station connecting to the Rest Stop, and asks the man to fill his tank, “Premium, thank you very much,” hands the man his card, and waits for the fuel fills his tanks.

“Ratch, is gas ya’ food?” Hope asks, while nibbling on a granola bar.

Ratchet’s HoloMatter tilts his head, “In a sense, yes, but this is not the preferred means of ‘food,’ my kind enjoys a substance called energon, but since it is a rarity, these oils and gas organics’ mass produce will serve for now,” and with that the gas station attendant gives Ratchet his card back, and the ambulance rips away from the gas station. 

Unbeknownst to the two, a black, recently waxed 2004 Mercedes 600sl was parallel in the other gas station lane, carefully watching the CMO through it’s black tinted windows. The driver hums in thought has he sees the ambulance pulls away, with an all too familiar license plate.  Dominick Ricci curses under his breath, and just as the gas station attendant hands back his change, he races off, with means of pursuing his father’s first purchase. 

***

“So, was the kid with the ambulance?” Lambert questions over the telephone line as he peaks through his windows. 

“Couldn’t tell ya’.  All I know is that was the fuckin’ ambulance man, the one ya’ first worked on! And if it’s anything, it still looks like it’s runnin’ good. Did ya’ take it to the priest like I said?” Dominick mocks as he winds down the dirt roads towards Lambert’s lands.

“No, ya’ fuckin’ moron.  But, it would make a lot more fuckin’ sense now that you say there’s a guy drivin’ around with it. Thought I was fuckin’ crazy that night, but I guess I was more pissed at the kid that I did’t even notice the fucker!” Lambert slams his fist against the wall, heaving a growl.

Dominick snorts, “I’m rollin’ up now, we’ll discuss what to do with ya’ lil pal and girlie inside,” and Dominick hangs up his phone, parks, and makes his way into Lambert’s household. 

Inside, Dominick sits himself at the dinner table, while Lambert leans against his kitchen counter. Lambert huffs a heavy sigh, and wipes his face, “I was gona let it go, just brush off the fact that a fuckin’ kid somehow ripped off with my purchase. Thought the kid would just crash and die off like its mother, but not that you tell me I’ve been had – I’m going fuckin’ kill the sonuvabitch!” Lambert slams his fist against the counter, shaking the cups and silverware placed upon it. 

Dominick sighs, “Chill the fuck out, we’ll get ‘em.  How old’s the kid anyhow?”

“When we make our first run in that ambulance? ’98? She’s gotta be like five years old by now,” Lambert crosses his arms, looking at Dominick to finish his thought. 

“Ok, simple enough, track ‘em down, kill the fucker and ship the kid off to where the mother was headin’! What goes around comes around, destiny is destiny! Kid was born to work for the Sokolov family!” Dominick’s grin slides across his face like grease, and Lambert considers and nods.

“So, how can we do this?” Lambert begins to pace through the room, and Dominick thinks carefully.

“Didn’t ya’ bud Gerard make all that hacker shit for this ambulance?” Lambert nods, and Dominick continues, “Ok, well with the Ricci’s lookin’ out and Gerard trackin’ for anytime the ambulance gets mistakenly registered in a county – it’ll be no time before we get our hands on the scumbag and the shitty brat!”

Lambert claps his hands with a smile, and goes to the phone, “Let’s get this fuckin’ schmuck.”

***

“Ratch! Can we listen to the other channel?” Hope kicks her legs against the seat impatiently as the ambulance drives through the night.  Her question is met with a huff, and she stick her bottom lip out in a pout, “Ratch! Please?”

“Absolutely not! I heard what those _performers_ were singing, and it is not, under any means, appropriate language for young sparklings!” Ratchet rounded another corner, his tires squealing as he pulls into a side road. He became aware of something following them, a Decipticon or coincidence – either way he was not going to risk his bitlet’s safety.  His engine growled as the black, glossy 2004 Ford Escape was keeping its distance, but nevertheless following them with every turn. Ratchet’s anxiety was rising and with his complaining sparkling, his worrying on what his next call to action should be steadily progressed into full-fledged panic.

As he speeds down the road, the Ford Escape gaining on him, Ratchet skirts into a clearing the surrounding woods, calling for Hope to, “Buckle up, head down, and hold onto the door handle,” and met with her squeal of excitement, Ratchet began to off road into the dark forest, his pursuers lights dimming in the distance.  Far enough into the forest, Ratchet sighs and parks in a clearing. Hope pops her head up, glancing out the window, and taps Ratchet’s dashboard.

“Where are we, Ratch?” She tries to open the door, but Ratchet locks his doors. Met with a pout, Hope says, “Ratch! I wan’ go outside!”

Ratchet grumbles out, “Too cold, temperature’s too low for bitlets to wander around looking for trouble. You are just going to have to sit, and wait until I find us a new place to live.”

Hope crosses her arms, tears already threatening to fall down her soft face, “But! But!”

Just then, in the driver’s seat, Ratchet’s HoloMatter leans over and grabs Hope, placing her in his lap. He cuddles her close, petting her head and lulling her with sweet words to calm her down. “There, there, sweetspark.  I know I’m being unfair, but its dangerous right now, and we need to be safe – after all a medic’s duty is safety, and what kind of CMO would I be if my own bitlet got damaged?” Hope gripped the HoloMatter’s shirt, and Ratchet let out a sigh, “I know, it’s difficult and I’m stubborn. But, sweetspark, I want the best for you, and I’m trying so, so hard. I love you too much to see you hurt, so please don’t cry.”

Hope leans back, wiping her eyes, “’m sorry, Ratch, ‘m tired,” Ratchet hums in return, and ushers her to go to the back of the cab, where there were blankets and pillows Ratchet bought at a passing Walmart, before being tailed. His HoloMatter fizzles out, and his engine hums the lullaby Hope loves the most. After she falls asleep, Ratchet begins his nightly routine.

“Comm. to Optimus Prime. Optimus, this is Ratchet. I believe my charge and I are being followed, unknown who the pursuer is, but we have avoided conflict for now. Recently, I have heard bits of your Comm. but for  fraggin’ sake, I can’t seem to obtain your coordinates. I’ve run diagnostics and found that my Comm. link is undamaged, so I can't for the spark in me find a reason the transmission isn’t slaggin’ goin’ through..." Ratchet's engine grumbles as he continues, "I’d like to leave this fraggin' coast, but its seems the organics posed a reasonable argument of why I can’t leave.  As a Autobot ambulance, I blend in, but since I an unregistered vehicle, one that is carrying a small bitlet in his cab, if by chance I am pulled over by human authorities, there could be issues that I don't want my processor to even fathom.  I guess, Old Friend, I'm what you would call: 'playing it safe'. Though, I am only able to stay where the organics hacked into their own systems and registered me, but if I can find an ultimate code to register me in every terrain outside of this one, I must remain in this area. Optimus, if you can hear me, or any of these messages, please – come find us. I fear for Hope - the men, the organization they’re from, I believe they are looking for her.  Please, Optimus, I can’t lose Hope, I just _can’t._ ” And with an unsteady sigh, Ratchet ends the transmission, and settles in for the night with an uneasy spark.  


	3. Processing Weakened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to IHOP makes for an encounter Ratchet was wanting to avoid, and among the things Ratchet is hoping to avoid is the ever present questions that lay on his processor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love this story, and updating is just for my fun - but if you find it entertaining/enjoyable as well that's just as great! I love Dadbot Ratchet, and I currently have a lot more ups and downs for this story, including Hope growing up!! Stay tuned if you're into it haha.

Before his charge could wake up, Ratchet’s engines start with a soft hum as he slowly finds his way out of the enclosed woods.  The car that tailed them just hours before was now gone, and Ratchet searches his GPS for means of safety for him and Hope. His suspicions of _who_ exactly the unmarked car was makes Ratchet’s spark whirl with anxiety, yet he pushes it aside and trails down a secluded road, kicking up gravel with the roll of his tires.  Hope murmurs in her sleep, shifting from side to side in Ratchet’s passenger seat, and Ratchet clicks on a classical music station letting the soft symphonies fill his cabin and lull the small child back into the world of dreams yet again. With a happy sigh, Hope sinks into the warm, a soft smile dancing upon her lips. Ratchet’s engine hums in contentment, and the new day in laid in the gravelly road before them. 

With these solemn moments, Ratchet’s mind wanders into questions that have laid on his processor for far too long.  These questions yet to have an answer, which frustrates the old CMO to no end, but nevertheless, he focuses on the probability of what could be the conclusion to his current narrative. _If I could just find Optimus, I could regroup with the team, see how much damage they’ve done in my absence – the slaggers – and we could deploy our next plan against the Decepticons!_ But, as Ratchet pictures his reunion with his team he can’t help but to question the fate of his young charge. _What will Optimus do? What will the team say? No, no, **slag** what the team says or thinks, even what Optimus thinks! Hope - Hope is my charge and I will fragging see to it she is safe and secure with me, CMO or no CMO. _ And while the speed of the ambulance increases for these fractions of seconds that pair with these thoughts, his tires slow ever so slightly when he begins to question what options lay before him and Hope. _Would bringing her into this war really be what’s best for her? She’s been through so much, a war with intergalactic beings cannot be good for the human psyche – it’s not even good for Cybertronian processors! What in the slag was I thinking? I can’t protect her constantly from the Decepticons – I have survived them by the mere luster on my own aft! But, to part with Hope…to leave her behind, even though I made a **promise**_. And it is as these final thoughts swirl within the ambulance’s processor that Hope stretches and yawns, awaking from her sleep. She smiles the grin that Ratchet holds most dear to his spark, and mumbles out a “G’morin’” laced with haze.  It’s moments like these that bring any doubt Ratchet holds into a staggering halt, and Ratchet finds within his spark the resolve to do what ever in his power, as an Autobot, as the CMO, and as a _guardian,_ to protect Hope at all costs.

With Hope fully awake and fidgeting, Ratchet activates his HoloMatter and pulls into one of Hope’s favorite restaurants, IHOP. Once Hope’s eyes fall upon the famous blue roof, she lets out a shriek of pure joy, and Ratchet winces at the sound with a slight quirk in of his HoloMatter’s lips.  The ambulance parks, and they walk into the restaurant in hand in hand, Hope babbling about her absolute favorite orders. The waitress sits them in a booth by a window, and takes Hope’s sugar-filled breakfast choice - despite Ratchet’s displeasure. When the waitress looks to Ratchet for his order, he replies, “I’ve had my morning coffee back home, today’s just about her,” a grin plays on his lips that causes the waitress to almost physically _swoon_.  As she retreats to the kitchen, he looks to Hope – who stares with slight mischief dancing in she bright eyes. 

Ratchet’s eyes narrow, mirroring the same glint of mischief, and in just a second – the two grasp their hands together and begin a match of thumb wars. A game the two picked up when Hope observed a father and son playing awhile back, the stare she gave the two was heavy and filled with so much wonder, Ratchet had no choice but to scan the internet and comprehend the rules of this simple Earth game to teach to his charge. And, in the solace of being in HoloMatter, once Hope gives him that look, the two begin their new tradition. Hope sticks her tongue out in concentration, as Ratchet easily avoids her small thumb. He chuckles when her cheeks puff and begin to splotch, and just as they tinge the slightest pink – Ratchet collapses his thumb under hers. Hope’s eyes go wide, and her cheeks deflate into a smile that makes Ratchet’s spark whirl with joy. She giggles with joy and kicks her little feet under the table, and grasps Ratchet’s hand.

“Yes, yes, you thwarted me yet again, youngling,” Ratchet says defeatedly, with a grin splitting across his HoloMatter’s face.

“I did! I did!” Hope’s laughter fills the IHOP, and the other patrons look on fondly at the two.

Just as Hope settles down, the waitress returns with the meal, and Hope smile returns. She happily begins to eat her “Smiley Pancakes,” as Ratchet scolds her for eating just a little too fast for his approval – “Your throat capacity cannot handle that much intake, sweetspark, _slow down,_ ” the jingle of the bells above the door sound through the IHOP, as two men walk in.  They ignore the waitress who asks to seat them, and immediately begin to scan the customers. Taking in the suspicious men, Ratchet looks out his window to see two black cars parked next to his Alt. mode. More specifically, as Ratchet scans the cars, two 1999 Ford Accords, black with purple detailing – and a Decepticon insignia right on the hood. A Cybertronian curse falling off his lips, and Ratchet looks to Hope, then to the two men – who thankfully have yet to recognize the medic’s HoloMatter. He takes Hope’s hands, and with just one look and two words: “Teddy-Bear,” Ratchet rises from his seat. His HoloMatter retreats to the men’s room, and behind closed doors – evaporates. Hope places her utensils on the table, steps away from her chair, and calmly walks towards the front doors.  Before she leaves, she looks to the waitress and says in a sweet voice: “My daddy’s in the bathroom, he said I can go get my teddy-bear to share my pancakes with!” and overcome by the absolute cuteness of the child, the waitress gladly opens the door for her. Immediately, the moment Hope is outside the doors – Ratchet’s engine roars to life. He rips away from the two parked Decepticons, their HoloMatters’ frantically looking out the window, then to the child, then to the ambulance rolling up and opening its doors for the small child to get in. As the ambulance’s tires peel away from the IHOP, the two HoloMatters of the Decepticons evaporate as well, and their own engines rip to life at they begin to track down the Autobot CMO. They transmission a simple message to their Officer in Command: “Autobot CMO: Located. Paired: Organic Adolescent.”

As Ratchet adjusts his mirrors to watch the two Decepticons trail his every maneuver, Hope curls herself in his passenger seat with a whimper. Her body has the slightest tremble, and her lip quivers just enough that makes Ratchet’s processor ache with sorrow. He activates his HoloMatter to reassure the small girl, hold her hand as he murmurs sweet telling of what they are going to do after they mange to escape the two Decepticons. Hope clutches the HoloMatter’s hands, and nods to Ratchet’s talking. As his HoloMatter comforts the small girl, it takes the CMO only a second to notice the progress the two Decepticons have made in maneuvering through traffic to catch up with him.

“Sweetspark, hold on - we are making a quick turn!” And as his tires squeal in protest, the CMO finds himself following signs that read: ALLAIRE STATE PARK. Give the speed the ambulance was going, the usual 20-minute drive was shortened to a 10-minute drive. As he barrels over the forest grounds, the Decepticons fast on his wheels, Ratchet shifts into his bi-pedal form, and places Hope next to his spark chamber – enclosed in his chassis. She huddles herself close, her whimpering slowing turning into cries, as Ratchet grounds himself in and aims his weapons at the now transforming Decepticons. With no hesitation, the CMO swiftly aims his weapon and fires, obtaining a headshot to one and a shoulder wound to the other.  As his comrade falls, the remaining Decepticon raises his weapon, but Ratchet being two steps ahead is already charging at the Decepticon, and grabbing the outstretched arm, and twisting it to the point the Decepticon’s armor warps into a spiral, and Ratchet aims his remaining servo – holding a loaded blaster – at the Decepticon’s neck-cabling.

 “Who have you informed of your location?” The CMO spat as he continues to twist the Decepticon’s arm.

“Request: Denied. Reasoning: Interrogation Futile.” The Decepticon tilts its helm back, as Ratchet presses the blaster just close enough that the neck-cabling of the ‘Con beings to simmer from the heat emitting off the barrel of the blaster. 

“By the way you speak, I’d take it your one of Soundwave’s factions. You probably already informed the forsaken fragger, haven’t you?” Ratchet ceases his twisting on the ‘Con’s arm, gritting his denta.

“Request: Denied. Reasoning: Autobot Processing Weakened.” The Decepticon replied smoothly.

Ratchet’s servo twitched, “What in the _slag_ is that suppose to mean?”

“Request: Approved. Reasoning: Connection to Organic Adolescent.”

Ratchet’s lines went cold for a split millisecond, before he pulled the trigger on the blaster, sufficiently blowing the helm off the ‘Con.  He watched the frame fall the ground with a _THRUMP._ He stepped over from the lifeless bots, transformed into his Alt., buckling in Hope, who cried herself to sleep in the midst of the battle, and made an anonymous call to the FBI about the recent “alien” sighting in none other that Allaire State Park, New Jersey.  As he pulls back onto the highway, Ratchet’s engine rumbles with displeasure as he replays the recent files, more specifically the lines: “Reasoning: Autobot Processing Weakened,” and “Reasoning: Connection to Organic Adolescent”. 

This encounter stifles Ratchet’s processor to the point where his driving soon becomes erratic, as he swerves and slams on his brake so harshly, Hope’s body lurches forward in her seat – only to be held back from Ratchet’s, now tightening to prevent injury, seatbelt.  Though, the movement is enough to wake Hope up, and once her eyes are open enough to take in where she is, her lip trembles just enough to warn Ratchet that she’s going to begin to cry again.  With soft murmurs, Ratchet comforts the little cries from the quivering child. It takes roughly a half an hour, but soon the cries subside, and Hope has fallen back to sleep, clasping on to Ratchet’s seatbelt. Ratchet sighs, and pulls into an abandoned parking lot, parks, and rests his wheels momentarily.  He opens his Comm., and per usual is met with radio silence. He heaves yet another sigh, grumbling. “Fraggin’ busted Comm. Where is Wheeljack when you need him?”

Checking his chronometer, Ratchet notes that his has less than five hours until sundown, meaning he has to safely procure Hope’s dinner, fuel up himself without being caught, and find a place to settle in for the night – preferable away from open area.  Now that the Decepticons, much to Ratchet’s displeasure, know of where and _who_ he was with, Ratchet is going to have to be very, very careful. As he mules over his plans, Hope stirs in his seat. She awakens to Ratchet’s grumbling engine, and pats his dashboard. Her slurred words of comfort – “Wha’s wrong Ratch’? ‘M here” – make Ratchet lower his engine to a soft hum.

“Nothing wrong, sweetspark – just thinking of where to get you dinner. A _healthy_ choice would be preferable.  Something to make up for…this morning,” Slowing his words, trying to ease the child’s mind about the traumatizing adventure the two shared just earlier this morning, though surprisingly Ratchet noticed no dismay on the child’s face, just a short nod and a small hand rubbing her eyes.

“’M pancakes were good though,” Hope says with a lopsided grin, and Ratchet vents out the air he didn’t know he was holding in.  He returns her grin with a chuckle, and informs her that the best choice for her dinner would be ordering soup from Panera Bread – especially since the winter’s season was not, by any means, easing up. “I wan’ chicken noodle then, please!”

“A good choice indeed, sweetspark. Just the nutritional value you need, in fact,” Ratchet revs his engine and begins making his way towards the closest Panera Bread.

A drive filled with idle chatter and soft music flowing through his cabin, Ratchet tells Hope of his plans to get her a proper education – he’s been downloading files from the internet on “homeschooling” and the various means of educating a child on the proper subjects per age – and while Hope is gleeful on the idea of “school” with Ratchet, he can’t help but think of the opportunities Hope could have if she could enroll in an _actual_ Earth school. His spark twists with numerous emotions –  _piety_ , _shame_ , _regret_ – but his resolve was still held: Hope was to stay with him, and since the Decepticons now know of her – she _defiantly_ must stay with him.

 After dinner, and after Ratchet finds fueling for a cheap price – “2.45 a gallon – what is the _slag_ is that about?!” – Ratchet finds a secluded parking lot for a nature trail, just out of suburban limits. Hope sits in the back of his cabin, cuddled in blankets and cuddling her newest teddy bear – Ratchet was quite weak to Hope’s pouting when they went shopping, though having his back cabin filled with stuff animals was getting ridiculous, but he just couldn’t say no and she _does_ put them away when she’s done playing with them – Hope begins to hum her favorite lullaby to her bear, and shifts to snuggle closer to it.  Ratchet’s engine slowly joins Hope’s rhythm, and soon the little child is fast asleep with a faint smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this considered a short chapter? Probably, but I've been needing to update anyways! Not to spoil too much, but since it's already hinted: Yes, the 'Cons will be getting involved fairly soon haha, and so will the Mafia arch! Didn't forget them, just trying to pace myself. If you like the story leave a kudos! Thanks and see you next update!


	4. Hide and Seek.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the park leads to a game Ratchet never wants to play. Ever.

Serval days pass since the encounter with the two Decepticon agents, and while the ever-present threat of more Deceptions tracking them is prevalent – Ratchet finds his wheels guiding him to a local park.  Said park is equipped with a playground and swing sets, something that Hope has been begging to experience. As the ambulance pulls into the parking space, Hope eagerly opens the door and jumps out. Her giddiness cannot be bodily contained – as Ratchet notices her shakes and fidgeting. His HoloMatter follows in exiting the cab, and the two walk hand-in-hand to the empty swing set. Just before they reach the seats, Hope slows herself, and looks to her feet.

Ratchet’s HoloMatter turns, and questions: “What’s the matter sweetspark?”

Hope kicks her feet against the gravelly blacktop, “’m nervous,” and to this, Ratchet’s HoloMatter picks the small girl up and lets her arms wrap around his neck. 

He chuckles as he makes his way to the swings, and placed Hope carefully down.  Crouching to eye-level, Ratchet comforts the small girl, “Now, because you’ve asked so nicely these past days, I’ve looked up exactly what these contraptions are and how to operate them.  And, my little spark, I can assure you there is nothing to worry about.  Especially since I’ll be with you the whole time,” and with a gentle smile and a ruffle of Hope curls, Ratchet’s HoloMatter stands and makes his way behind Hope. 

He instructs her to hold onto the chains of the swing set, and with a gentle push – Hope begins to swing back and forth. “Now, when you go up – lift your legs straight, and when you go down – bring ‘em down, ok sweetspark?”

With a joyous laugh, Hope replies with a boisterous smile and a nod, following Ratchet’s instructions.  Ratchet stands back from the swing, watching his charge go higher, and higher – “Hope, Hope don’t go too high, you’ll fall!”

After the girl giggles, a “’Kay Ratch’!” Ratchet huffs contently, standing in silence as Hope enjoys her time.  That is, until he hears static in his audials, _Someone is trying to reach me through the Comm. Link!_ A with a glance at Hope, Ratchet informs her that he will be away for just a few seconds. Hope continues swinging, and Ratchet’s HoloMatter rushes off to the parked ambulance.

As Hope continues swinging, more and more families enter the park. Groups of children begin to play school-yard games, and Hope watches the children laugh and play with one another.  She slows her speed on the swings, and gets off – only to be stopped by a small voice: “Hey! Wanna play?”

Hope turns around, but where she was expecting a child – she found nothing. Just empty air, and the voice gone. The other children’s laughter and screams filled the park and as Hope turns back around to try and join the other kids, she’s stopped by what sits in front of her. A mechanical bird tilts it’s head, and Hope tilts hers back. The bird opens its beak, and repeats: “Hey! Wanna play?”

Hope’s eyes go wide, and she nods her head fervently. The bird hops to the edge of the playground, repeating the phrase: “Come over here, come over here!” Hope follows earnestly, and when she’s far away from the swings, the park, and from Ratchet, the bird turns to her, “Do you like gifts?”

Hope nods, and the bird flies above her head and places a necklace around her. At the end of the chain is a small, sliver circle and when she tries to examine it closely, the bird stops her by speaking: “Gift-giving is for friends, we’re friends. Don’t let anyone know, that’s how the game is played!”

Hope shakes her head and drops the necklace against her skin, “What game?”

The bird flies to a tree branch, located just above Hope, “A game of hide and seek!”

Hope looks up to the bird, but before she could speak she heard a distant: “Hope! Hope, where _are_ you?!” With a gasp, she looks towards an empty branch, then to Ratchet, whose HoloMatter makes his way to Hope in swift movements. He picks her up, and hold her in his arms and scolds: “Wandering off, a youngling like you? That’s just asking for trouble! I know I left momentarily, but _never_ go where I can’t see you again? Ok?”

Hope nods her head, and before she thinks about mentioning her encounter with the bird, she remembers what the little mechanical bird told her, _Don’t let anyone know, that’s how the game is played._ She holds her necklace to herself, and when Ratchet asks, Hope stills. She glances to Ratchet’s HoloMatter’s questioning face, then to the children on the playground, then to the empty branch.  The bird’s words filling her head: _Don’t let anyone know, that’s how the game is played._ Hope’s eyes dart at the children playing again, letting her gaze hold there. Friends – the bird said they were friends, and now they were playing a game. Her friend even gave her a gift! But the rule of not telling anyone makes Hope frown – but before she could reply, Ratchet seemly followed her gaze to the groups of children and came up with his own assumption: “Ah, did the other organ- I mean, children – give you that, sweetspark?”

Hope breaks her gaze and nods. Ratchet smiles, and hums his way back to the cabin of the ambulance.  He loads Hope in, and with his engines coming to life, the he makes his way onto the road yet again. 

An hour or two passes since their trip to the park, and Hope taps Ratchet’s dashboard tenderly. Ratchet hums a response, and Hope questions: “Where did ya’ go? At the swings?”

“Well, I thought my friends were contacting me, yet when I opened my Comm. Link, the static dispersed and the connection was dead.  And when I went back to get _you_ , you were gone. Gave my spark a short-circuit, that’s for sure!” Ratchet finished sternly. Hope fidgets in her seat and mumbles a “’m sorry,” and with a sigh, Ratchet continues, “It’s all right – a long as you never leave my sight again. Why were you that far out anyways? You were nearly in the surrounding woods!”

Hope kept her line of sight on her feet, and she confessed, “Was playin’ a game, Ratch’”

“Oh, and what game consists of going that far out that I couldn’t find you?”

A pause, and Hope wrings her hands in her lap before she mumbles: “Hide ‘nd seek”

Just as the words leave her lips, a loud _BANG-POP!_ echoes on the road as Ratchet’s tires blow out, and the ambulance spins out of control and lands in a ditch, just off the barren road. 

***

A groan fills the silence, as the dented, smoking ambulance transforms into his bi-pedal form. A shake of his helm, and an onlining of his optics tells him that something went _wrong._ He checks his HUD, replaying memory files from before the crash.  He was having a conversation, or reprimanding session, with Hope. _Hope, oh fragging pit, HOPE._ Panic taking course through the CMO’s processor, the desperately looks around for his innocence charge. Checking his chassis, then the fall point, and then defeatedly _anywhere_ – yet no sign of the girl was seen.  He calls for her, over and over until his HUD and vitals show that he is in desperate need of fueling and desperate need for repairs – but he _can’t,_ because Hope is missing, and he needs to find his sparkling and he needs to see if _she’s ok_.  As he staggers his way towards the empty road, he hears a small, desperate voice: “Ratch’”

His helm whips towards the noise, and in a second he’s running towards it’s source. “I’m coming sweetspark, hold on!” And the voice just keeps repeating: “Ratch’” And just as he looks on the ground, expecting the worst, he finds nothing – no little body, with a head of curls and a lopsided smile - just _nothing_. He thinks his processor is so damaged that it’s driving him to hear things, that the grief and shock is causing madness – until he hears it again, just above his helm.

He looks up, and there sitting on a decaying branch is a sleek, black, mechanical hawk. It’s eyes whirl, recording every movement Ratchet takes, and it opens its beak to play the little girls voice: “Ratch’”. Said CMO stares in shock, he knows this ‘bot, his knows _who_ the bot works with, and with a grit of his denta – fury fills his frame to the brim. Mere seconds, and the Autobot CMO has his blaster lock, loaded, and ready.

“Where. Is. She. Laserbeak.” The CMO’s anger is prevalent, so much so that his optics glow a furious bright blue. 

The bird opens its beak, and a message is replayed, “Mission: Obtain Organic Adolescence. Status: Complete. Mission: Distract Autobot Chief Medical Officer. Status: On-going.”

“Don’t make me repeat, you slagging, worthless bird! Tell me, or Get. Blasted,” Ratchet spat as his weapon charges, and Laserbeak opens their wingspan to full length to take off, before they can, however, Ratchet successfully lands a hit on Laserbeak’s left wing. The bird stumbles on the branch, then falls to the ground, “Like I said, tell me. And _maybe_ , I won’t offline you.”

Just as Ratchet takes a step towards the damaged mechanical bird, a bright, sickly green light flares through the area, leaving a hauntingly green glow shining off of Ratchet’s plating. As the Autobot shields his optics, he hears the Decepticon’s static-filled transmission: “Mission: Distract Autobot Medic. Status: Complete.”

Ratchet grunts, and the glow becomes so increasingly bright that he feels his plating begin to warm, and just as he grunts in dismay – the light vanishes.  Ratchet lowers his hands, engine revving in pure _fury_ , and as he looks towards the ground, he finds that Laserbeak has vanished. Ratchet grips his servos, metal digits scraping into his palm, and lets out a frustrated, anguished cry. He lifts his fist, and in a crisp moment – a tree lays on the forest’s floor. Venting harshly, Ratchet stomps towards the open road. With his tires deflated, the medic finds himself at and inability to transform, which leads him to let out another grunt of dismay. His spark whirls with anxiety, and as he treads towards the road a thought pings in his processor. _A blinding green light…A ground bridge! That’s how that slagging pest got away._

“If Laserbeak took a ground bridge back to his fragger of a commander,” Ratchet denta grit, “Then Hope must’ve been taken that way too, must’ve taken her back to their base,” As the Medic thought aloud, his sensors picked up something – or _someone –_ tailing him. He takes a few more cautious steps, and when the sensor picks up the offender speeding towards Ratchet, Ratchet whips his helm to the side just in time to avoid a blaster shot.

“So, the rumors are true – the Medic does have decent reflexes!” A scratchy voice laughs, and as Ratchet turns to fully see his opponent, he sees non-other than the Second-Commander of Deceptions. Starscream grins maliciously, and raises his blaster just at the center of Ratchet’s helm.  “Tell me, _Medic,_ ” he hisses, “Why I shouldn’t offline you – right here, right now?”

“Because, you absolute fragging slagger,” Ratchet growls, “You wouldn’t have taken my charge if you didn’t need me – so hurry this up and take me to where she is, _now.”_

Starscream sneers, and issues the command for a ground bridge. Ratchet stands seething, a blaster placed at his temple as he stays within Starscream’s reach.  As the bridge’s green light encases their frames, Ratchet’s quick movements take the Decepticon by surprise -  with a duck, a twist, and a kick to the abdomen, Starscream was left on the ground, groveling in pain, as the Autobot CMO charges through the bridge armed with a blaster and a temper that even the Smelting Pit couldn't match. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently writing a history paper and suffering, but I decided to upload this during my break haha. This chapter brought in more characters, and yes - I know it's going slowly but I want the gravity of this story to settle. I'm trying to avoid and one and done kinda deal haha. Now that Hope has been taken, Hatchet is in a MOOD! Hopefully, everyone will want to see some Dadbot kickin ass! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading my self indulgent fic haha!


	5. Withheld.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave gets a well-deserved helm ache.

“Mission: Distract Autobot Medic. Status: Complete. Damage Report: Mild,” Laserbeak sits perched upon Soundwave’s work station. Said Commander nods and Comm. Links the Med-bay to prepare for his cassette’s arrival.

The Decepticon Communication Officer dismisses his loyal cassette to be repaired and returns to his decoding.  However, once Laserbeak flies away for repairs, a small whimper is heard echoing through the control room.  Soundwave stills, only for a moment, and then proceeds with his work. Silence fills the room only shortly – for the whimper is heard yet again.  Tilting his helm, Soundwave makes his way to the source, only to find the Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer’s charge curled into herself, trembling slightly. Lowering himself, Soundwave analyzes the small organic for a minute or two, then finally: “Inquiry: Is small organic feeling ill? Answer: Mandatory.”

With the sound of the Decipticon’s voice, Hope stiffens and buries her head deeper into her knees. She makes no noise, no reply – to which Soundwave repeats: “Answer: Mandatory.”

Hope peeks her hear slightly up, and with tearful eyes and a pouted lip she denies answering the Communication Officer yet again. Soundwave keeps his helm level, staring back at the small Organic, and after minutes of silence pass, Soundwave pulls away from Hope.  Hope barely relaxes, until Soundwave’s servo reaches around her and pulls her up into the air.  She screams and shouts, but the Decepticon continues to walk briskly out of his work station and into the main hall. 

As Hope screams, Soundwave sends a private comm. to Ravage, encouraging the cyber-panther to meet him in their quarters to help deal with the “Aggravating Organic,” but instead of getting a reply Soundwave was left with nothing from static from his cassette’s comm. Perplexed, Soundwave hurries along the corridors to his quarters, Hope throwing a tantrum all the way there. When the sliding doors open, Soundwave places the crying girl on his berth. Her face was blotchy red, and her tear-stain cheeks made Soundwave run a quick search of if there _was_ anything truly wrong with the Medic’s charge – only to find that some organics change color when exposed to certain reflexes that are triggered by certain emotions. Now knowing this, Soundwave levels with the small girl again and says, “Order: Silence.”

Once hearing the command and seeing how close the helm of the Decepticon was, Hope rubs her eyes and takes a deep breath. She leans slightly backwards, takes a gulp of air, and _screams_. Her scream carries through the room like a piercing alarm and makes Soundwave _recoil._ She continues to scream, and Soundwave straightens and repeats his order. The two carry on like that, just a continuous loop of nonsensical noise, until finally a _CRASH!_ Can be heard outside Soundwave’s door.

The Communication’s officer briskly turns away from the child, who in return resumes her position of curling into herself. The Decepticon opens to door to find none other than the Leader of the Decepticons. Megatron stands fuming within the door frame. His armor is flared with aggravation, and his red optics glow menacingly in the dimly light hallway. 

“Care to tell me, my dear Soundwave, why there appears to be a siren repeatedly going off while I am _trying_ to think over what our next tactical move against the Autobot brigade should be – since all of Starscream and yours have _failed_ so far?” Megatron seethes.

“Siren: Negative. Source of Noise: Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer’s Charge.”

“You are telling me that the insufferable, piercing, helm-aching noise is from a puny organic?” Megatron’s optics dim, as he tilts to look past Soundwave. He goes to move into Soundwave’s quarters but is stopped.

“Organic: Highly Irritable. Would not advise contact, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron looks to the child, then to his Communication’s Officer. He steps away from the room, ordering to Soundwave: “Keep her _quiet._ And see if you can find Starscream and that blasted Medic, they should be back by now.”

“Mission: Registered.” Soundwave turns to collect the girl, taking just a few steps into his quarters – only to find that Hope is gone.

***

Hope’s legs only carry her so far, until she’s slumps against a hidden corner, gasping for air. Her tears still flowed down her cheeks, and her eyes were beginning to swell from rubbing them too much. She trembles in the dark hallway, as she scans the area around her. She breathes, gripping her hands to her chest, and just has she settles down a _THUMP! THUMP!_ can be heard echoing through the hallway. She gasps, and brings her hands to her mouth, covering her heaving.  The echoes becoming increasingly louder, and soon she’s faced with a pede of the same Mech that had her before. She opens her mouth to scream but is stopped by the Mech picking her up so quickly that she’s too shocked to scream. She coughs, trying to regain her strength when the Mech says to her:

“Organic Adolescence’s Guardian: Autobot Chief Medical Officer Ratchet?”

Hope’s eyes widen as she shakes her head furiously, she wiggles and writhes in the Mech’s grip, “’M Ratch’s friend! Where’s Ratch’!?”

Soundwave turns with Hope in his servo, and continues down the corridor, “Autobot C.M.O. Location: 250 ft. Initiate Contact?”

Hope tilts her head, “I don’ know what that means!”

“Does Organic Adolescence require viewing of C.M.O Ratchet?”

Hope continues to wiggle, “Le’me see Ratch! Please!!” Her tears begin to well in her eyes again, and Soundwave nods – continuing at his leisurely pace. As they navigate through the bleak hallways of the Decepticon fortress, Hope becomes increasing more anxious, her movement becomes more aggressive to the point where she is thrashing against Soundwave’s servo.  The Decepticon looks towards her, and with a tilt of his helm questions: “Panic Levels: Rising. Causation: ???”

Hope ignores the ‘Con however and continues to thrash about. Soundwave observes her for only a few second more, before the two of them hear a loud crashing down the hall. Hope stills as Soundwave stops, and the crashing continues to progress until finally a voice calls out: “GET THAT AUTOBOT-SCUM!”  

Soundwave tenses and shifts Hope away as he stances himself for the upcoming threat, and Hope eagerly wiggles about – “Autobot, that’s Ratch’! You said Ratch’! I wan’ see Ratch!” -  and the stomping of pedes comes to a halt, and the Autobot standing before them stares at Soundwave, optics whirling in and out with dismay.  The small Autobot ducks his helm as Soundwave’s blaster fires – and Hope squeals as the pain from the sound of said blaster rings through her ears. But, because of her cries, the Autobot takes a second glance and registers that Soundwave is indeed holding a human hostage. With a confused _Beep?_ The little Autobot begins to dodge the ever-consistent attacks of the Header Communications Officer.

Much to Soundwave’s dismay – none of his cassettes can help corral the intruding Autobot, so he is left with one servo and a small _annoying_ organic.  As the fight continues, Hope cries for her guardian, and with a piercing: “RATCH’!” Both the Deception and Autobot pause, as they hear a thunderous _BA-BUM! WHAMP! ZING! GRWOP!_ Before the source of the noise presents itself however, Soundwave turns to make one final hit at the small Autobot, only to find that during the distraction of the noise the ‘Bot fled.  And, even though anger is flowing through Soundwave’s EM field –  it was no match for the absolute _ferocity_ the new contender’s EM field was giving. As the source of the noise finally made itself known, Soundwave’s HUD _pings!_ Informing the Decepticon that the Organic’s guardian is only a mere 20 ft. in front of him.

Said Autobot Chief Medical Officer emits a vicious growl from his intake, “ _Soundwave._ You absolute, pit-fragging, son-of-a-spark-eater! Give. Me. My. Charge. Or. _Get. Smoked._ ”

Ratchet stands with engergon covering every part of his frame. He holds two blasters, and his optics were glowing with such intensity that Soundwave took a step back, though the sheer intensity of the Autobot CMO’s field was partly to blame. Soundwave holds still, though Hope cries for joy at the sight of her guardian. Ratchet optics keep on Soundwave, but his voice is gentle as he reassures Hope, “Hey, sweetspark. Ratch’ is gon’ fix this and get us back on the road soon,” but his voice hardens again when he addresses Soundwave once more, “Now, _give me her back_ – or have your helm _blown off_ , Soundwave.”

Soundwave continues to stare for only a few seconds before voicing: “Request: Denied.”

“Have it your way then,” Ratchet smirks, and before Soundwave can ready his own weapon – Ratchet shoots two shots right into each of Soundwave’s thighs. The ‘Con drops to the floor, but before he can drop Hope, Ratchet is already there, gently releasing her from Soundwave’s servos. “I’ve hit both main engergon lines, you got approximately 180 seconds before you die of engergon loss, and 135 seconds before you go into shock.”

Soundwave falls completely on the floor and watches as the Autobot Chief Medical Officer and his Organic Adolescent Charge leave down the corridor.  Given his options of dying or calling back up, Soundwave quickly Comm. Links to the Decepticon’s very own Medical Officer, before powering down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! been awhile huh? trying to get this story rolling enough with some decepticon interaction - and then the next chapters will be back with the Hope's mafia arch thing. I gave way to a lil autobot foreshadowing !! who, oh, who could that lil bot be? 
> 
> as always, im forever grateful if you read this story, and continue to read it! it means a lot !! 
> 
> \- shameless self promo -  
> TF blog: https://hatchetratchets.tumblr.com/  
> AO3 blog: https://acornswords.tumblr.com/  
> Main Blog: http://mischievousmess.tumblr.com/


	6. Escape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronted by the Warlord himself, what will Ratchet do to protect Hope?

Pede-stomps jolting the walls of the Decepticon base, Ratchet makes his way through the corridors. Hope, safely tucked away in his sub-space, folds into herself and whimpers quietly. Ratchet waits, stopping by the corner of one the walls, on the look out for more ‘Cons. Once he deems that the corridor is clear, he makes his way towards- what he believes – is the Ground bridge control panel.

“Knowing Decepticons, and more importantly – knowing _Megatron_ , the fragging chipper of a panel should be located near the main deck, easy access for the slagging ‘Warlord’ of these blasted fraggers to get to,” Ratchet thinks aloud, and just as he reaches near – a loud _BA-BAM!_ echoes, and a shift of metal scrapping follows.

“So, Starscream and Soundwave’s obnoxious plan worked, but per _usual_ the two of them have failed – _again,_ ” a gravely voice murmurs behind Ratchet. Swearing under frequency, Ratchet turns his helm at the mentioned “Warlord” of the Decepticons: Megatron. 

Ratchet, now fully turned around, takes a step away from the ever encroaching Megatron, “Listen to me, there’s no need for this – I have no idea where Optimus, or the team for that matter, is! You have no use for me,” But before he could continue, Megatron interrupts:

“By the contrary, my _dear_ Medic, you are the perfect leverage for Prime to come. How else will the Autobots survive without their dear, sweetly-mannered Chief Medical Officer?”

Ratchet grits his denta, “They’ve held out longer without me, I’m sure they can manage,” Of that, Ratchet did not believe – but with Hope in his sub-space, he needed to get away from Megatron.

“Ah, Ratchet, you never were good at bluffing,” The Warlord lets a smile creep onto his faceplate, and with just two swift steps, the Ex-Gladiator grips Ratchet’s arm – pinning him against the wall with a _CLA-TING!_ of their frames scraping.

Ratchet struggles, blasters fallen away – he looks away from Megatron’s leer, “You don’t want to do this, Prime won’t risk the entire team for a medic.”

Megatron tilts his helm, “Oh, but are you _just_ his medic?”

With that, Ratchet whips his optics to Megatron, a snarl dancing on his faceplate, “ _Listen_ to me, _Megatron –_ Let. Me. Go. There’s no need for this, and no need to waste your time!”

Megatron laughs, “You are in _no_ position to give orders, _Chief Medical Officer._ I’ll waste my time however I _want_. Now, I do believe you owe some of my Decepticons a _checkup –_ after your little rampage on _my_ ship.”

Ratchet grunts and with a tug of his arm, Megatron pulls him away from the wall. Ratchet panics, but before he can find a plan to action – Hope stirs in his chest. Confined and upset from hearing Ratchet’s distress, her lips tremble. She tilts her head back, eyes watering, and with a deep, shaky breath, Hope _screams_.  So loud, that the echoing in the sub-space rattles Ratchet’s frame slightly. And, while her volume was that of an average 5-year-old’s, the frequency of which Hope’s voice – when screaming – coincidentally is at a frequency that Decepticon’s – not including Soundwave, who is accustomed to most frequencies– absolutely cannot _stand_.

Said Warlord’s grip releases from Ratchet’s arm, gripping the wall instead. The agony of the piercing alarm being this close range made Megatron’s optics short, and with a grip of his helm, he let’s out a pained groan. 

Taking the opportunity of distraction, Ratchet quickly escapes Megatron and gains distance from the ex-gladiator's grip.  He reaches the ground bridge’s control panel room, locks the door, and places the coordinates for a remote location near the south shores of New Jersey.  With the green glow encasing the shadowed room, Ratchet takes a second to hear Megatron’s blaster blow the door open, and with swift movements goes through the closing ground bridge. 

***

Retrieving replacement tires from a Decepticon warship was near impossible, but Ratchet’s luck and pure, absolute _rage_ while in fervent search for Hope turned out for the best of results. After toppling out of the closing ground bridge, Ratchet removed Hope – who was promptly out-cold, startling Ratchet to near hysterics until he checked her vitals – and transformed into his Alt. mode. Driving a short distance into a more densely populated area, Ratchet pulls into a Walmart parking lot and parks in the back. After checking Hope’s vitals, assuring himself that she’ll awake when ready, Ratchet goes over his own vitals, attempts at the Comm. Link, and resolves to power down for a short de-fragging.

Before powering down, he leaves one Comm. message, an output on a different frequency, one that connects to both the team on Earth and beyond the stars:

“Comm. Link to Autobot Link 274: This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, reporting from Planet Earth. While there is a team of Autobots located on said planet, I’ve been separated from them for years – and for some _fragging_ reason, I can’t seem to get my Comm. Link to connect to any-bots. I’ve leaving this message for Hope, and for myself.  If you hear this, I cannot disclose my direct location at this time, I have _just_ briefly escaped the Decepticon Warship, and from the looks of it, I must stay hidden under the radar until I deem that it is safe for my Charge and I to be direct with our coordinates. But, since the Decepticons already _know_ – since they attacked me and kidnapped my charge – I can relay that the location I am trapped within is that of in the United States, more direct: New Jersey of the United States.  If any Autobot can hear this, know that with all my spark I wish to reunite with Team Prime, but I cannot do so without endangering my human charge. Please, since I cannot come to _you_ , I insist you try and find us! I will try to be has helpful as I can, but I must stay clear of Decepticon surveillance. Please, find us. Ratchet out.”

With a sigh of his engine, Ratchet manually shut down for recharge.  Hope laid in his passenger seat, blanketed, and cuddled with her stuffed animals. The glow of the streetlamps placed within the Walmart parking lot reflected off the CMO’s scratched and worn paint job – but it gave the weathered down Autobot an ethereal glow. As the hours went on, Hope stirred only slightly – clutching her blankets with shaking hands when her dreams became too much to handle for her. She calms when her head shifts against Ratchet’s seating, and the warmth and plush of the seat resigns in Hope’s mind as a comfort.  Dispelling the nightmares, Hope sighs contently and burrows herself into the seat once more, continuing with her dreaming. 

As the night progresses, the ambulance and his charge sleep soundly, yet contrast to their peaceful display of comfort – a man sits in his own car, an empty three rows across from Ratchet and Hope, a cigarette tugging at his lips. Smoke drifts through his car, seeping out of the slit of the window. He stares, re-reading the license plate, over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suspense! action! poorly written! who would want another chapter?! 
> 
> well this work is practice for me so you are always going to get a chapter - at least until the story closes! 
> 
> see you next chapter! thanks as always for reading !!


	7. Diverted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet just can't catch a break.

When morning finally comes, Ratchet’s engine hums happily in the brisk warmth of the sunshine. Hope stirs only slightly, taking her time waking up. While waiting for his charge, Ratchet searches through his HUD – no new notifications, which was not surprising but still disappointing. He grunts when he allows his scanners to cover the surrounding parking lot.  There was no Decepticon activity, yet Ratchet couldn’t shake the feeling from his processor that someone watching him and Hope. Before he can dwell any longer on the feeling, Hope finally wakes up – a frown gracing her small face. 

“What’s wrong, sweetspark?” Ratchet questions. Hope grumbles, rubbing her eyes and sniffling her nose, “Don’t rub too hard, you’ll make your optics – Sorry, eyes – swollen.”

“’s hurtin’ Ratch’.” Hope blinks a few times, her eyes red and watery.

Ratchet searches the internet for Hope’s latest symptoms, “Well, you don’t have a raised temperature, so my diagnosis is that these are seasonal allergies.”

“Ratch’, it _hurts_.” Hope sneezes, her frustration at her body’s reactions growing more prevalent. 

Ratchet chuckles at his charges’ furrowed eyebrows and frown.  “It’s alright bitlet, luckily we parked at a place that sells just the thing to take the pain away. Go get changed and grab your toothbrush so you can brush those teeth in the bathroom. Better to multitask than wait for another stop.”

Hope sneezes again but makes her way to the back cab where her clothes are tucked away. Ratchet waits for her to change into her new clothes, then transmissions his HoloMatter. He helps Hope out of the cab, and the two make their way into the Walmart. Unknown to the pair, three men in crisp, black suits promptly follow them into the store.

As Ratchet sends Hope into the bathroom to brush her teeth, his HoloMatter connects to his HUD in vehicle mode, and he notices a notification.  Before he can check it, his HUD sends him a proximity alert.

“What the frag?” Ratchet reads over the report, and Hope comes out of the bathroom. She notices Ratchet’s HoloMatter’s puzzled face, and tugs on his sleeve. Ratchet looks down at his charge, “Bitlet, I’m going to run and check on – well, myself? – Some bad people are trying to pull something _again,_ ” He says tiredly. He looks at Hope, torn on what to do. If it _is_ Decepticons, it’d be too risky to bring Hope into yet another battle – but could he just leave her in the middle of a store? The risk was so high, on both sides nonetheless! Ratchet’s HoloMatter fritzes as the apparent assailants make their attacks on his Alt. and Hope’s eyes widen in dismay.

“Ratch’! Ratch’ what’s wrong!?” She pulls on Ratchet’s HoloMatter’s hand.

“Sweetspark, I’m going to have to leave you,only for a few moments. Some bad people are hurting ol’ Ratch’ at the moment, and it’s too dangerous for you to come out with me while I deal with the fraggers,” Ratchet’s HoloMatter glitches again, sparking out as his face contorts in pain. “Can you be a good girl and wait for me? I’ll be quick, and as long as you don’t follow anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , we should be ok. Can you do that bitlet?”

Hope nods, and Ratchet’s HoloMatter kisses the top of her head. He tells her to sit on the bench, and his HoloMatter leaves from public sight and disappears. Hope sits alone on the bench, sniffling and rubbing her eyes. Because of her sniffling and watering eyes, she fails to notice the three men approaching her.

Ratchet’s HoloMatter flickers out, and his consciousness is fully back into his alt. form. His cab is riddled in dents, and those responsible surround him with pipes and bats. _Primitive,_ he thinks as he kicks his engine on to life, revving to scare away the group of humans.

“What the fuck!” One of the men screams, jumping back as Ratchet rolls forward.

“I know Lambert said the fuckin’ thing had a mind of its own, but I thought he was being his damned dramatic self,” The other men dodge away from Ratchet’s driving, as he whips around the parking lot. 

“Listen, he said to hit the fuckin’ thing to get that sleaze of a driver out of the store, and I don’t know what that thief did to this whip, but this is fuckin’ _insane_!” Another man exclaims, and he hobbles away from Ratchet’s growling engine.

The men hurry to the respective cars, as Ratchet squeals his wheels in anger. The group of men soon flee from the parking lot, leaving an exhausted Ratchet rolling up to an empty spot and parking. Spectators all watch eagerly, and Ratchet’s engine rumbles in dismay at the stunt he just pulled. He had to get out of here with Hope _fast_. No doubt Decepticons will hear from the humans’ communications about his little performance. Sighing, his HoloMatter appears, and steps out his cab. He faces the crowd and reassures him that he is ok, and no, he does not need the police. He briskly walks into the Walmart and pauses in cold shock as he notices the bench he left Hope at is empty.

 “No, no, no,” He mumbles as he runs towards the bench, “Hope!” He yells out, not caring of the stares from the rest of the shoppers. “Hope!!” He runs through the store, checking every crevice for his charge. Panicked and shaking, he is approached by a worker, “Please help me, I’ve lost my char – I mean, my daughter!”

The worker frowns, “Alright, sir. Please calm down and follow me.” She leads Ratchet’s shaking HoloMatter to the main office, where wall to wall security tapes are processed. “Where did you last see your daughter?”

“That bench by the women’s bathroom, I stepped away to grab something from the car,” Ratchet’s eyes danced across the static screen. “These tapings are horrible! You can barely decipher anything from these!”

The woman’s frown deepened, “This is the latest and greatest technology of our age, sir. 2005 has been the year of some of the best security advancements to date, especially in the footage department.” Ratchet grumbles, and the worker ignores him and continues on, “Leaving a child unsupervised is extremely irresponsible, sir. To be honest, the child could have wandered out of the store within the period you’ve given.”

Ratchet levels with worker with a glare, “I _know_ it was irresponsible, but I had no _fucking_ choice. And, Hope would never wander, nor would she follow someone out of the store. She knows better. Now, _show me the damned tapes_.”

The worker huffs, playing the tape from the surrounding area. Just as Ratchet’s HoloMatter is seen leaving Hope, the camera cuts to three men making their way closer to the sitting girl. Ratchet’s HoloMatter stiffens, as the men approach Hope, and he sees Hope quickly fights back as the men lean down to pick her up.  As she kicks and screams, a woman approaches the men and seems to question what their doing. The two men remain talking to the woman as the man holding the crying Hope leaves. And just before he leaves, the camera focused on the exit captures the man’s staticky face.

Ratchet pauses the tapes, furiously studying the face. Finally, his processor catches up, and he nearly glitches as he replays the memory files.

He thought back to the group that attacked him, his audio memory replaying: “ _I know Lambert said the fuckin’ thing had a mind of its own, but I thought he was being his damned dramatic self,” “I know Lambert said,” “I know Lambert,” “ **Lambert** said…” _

Ratchet storms from the office, ignoring the calls from the worker. His HoloMatter glitches out, and his engine rips to life. His tires squeal as he peels from the parking lot. He’s frame rattles with fury as he opens his GPS to where he _knows_ they’ve taken Hope.

“I’m going to _fragging_ kill him!” He screams as he guns his engine down the turnpike, leaving a trail of kicked up gravel and dust behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll re-proof this later but it has been dusting away in drafts for waaaay too long!
> 
> i'm swamped with college atm so updates are going to be one hell of a struggle and may not happen - for any of my works - until april is over :( 
> 
> but as always, thank you so much for reading !! especially this self-indulgent fic!!!!


	8. An Unexpected Arrival.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is taken and doesn't know what to do. Will Lambert get his way, or will someone help Hope escape?

Hope sits in a room, it’s dark, wet and smells absolutely awful. But, seeing as she’s only five years old, all she can articulate is a “Bleeh!” noise with her tongue out. She looks left, only to see a blank wall, then she looks right, only to see another blank wall. She lets out a quiet, “Ratchet?” Then a bit more wobbly, “Ratch’?” When she receives no answer, she loses all inhibition. She breaks down and begins to cry. She cries for what seems like hours before the door opens.

“What,” A rough voice says, “You hungry, or something?”

Hope sniffles, “No,” She wipes a tear from her stinging eyes, “I want Ratch’!”

“The fuck is a Ratch’? You mean a rash?”

Another voice comes from the hallway, “What are you, a fucking idiot? Why the fuck would a kid want a _rash_?!”

“Well, what the fuck else would she be sayin’, Dominick?”

Dominick stands in the doorway; his face scrunches up in disgusted at the sight of the small crying girl. “It’s the name she gave that fuckin’ ambulance.”

“What’s with kids these days? Naming shit that can’t understand ya is fucking weird.”

Hope whines, “He can! Ratch can understand! You’re just _mean!_ You guys are just mean and, and I just want –“ Hope’s lips quiver, before she lets out a screeching wail.

The two men flinched at the sound, Dominick snarls for her to shut up, but she screams till her voice is hoarse. The two men slink down the hall, after hearing someone shout for them.  Just as she takes a breath, eyes stinging from the continual stream of tears, a familiar figure slams his fist against the wall. Hope jolts back, the sound shocking a squeak out of her. Lambert stands in the doorway, a cigarette dangling loosely off his slightly chapped lips.

“Hey, brat,” He says casually, “Long time no see.”

Hope stares at Lambert with wide, fearful eyes. He takes a step towards her, then another. She’s too petrified to move, her hands are on her lap, gripping on to her now dirty and scuffed clothes. He leans down towards her, and she lowers her head from his drooping gaze. He takes his hand out from his pockets, and places it gently against Hope’s curls. It was almost as if he was petting her, caressing her into complicity. But Hope knew what a caring touch was, she knew who could ruffle of her hair with love, she knew kindness and Lambert didn’t hold any sense of compassion.

“What’s wrong kid?” He asks snidely, his hand putting more pressure on Hope’s head with each word, “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to cry again, but she knew Lambert would do something scary. So she stayed as still as she could, tears dripping right onto her clenched hands.

“Hey,” He crouched down, “Don’t grip too hard, Hope. Don’t need your hands even more fucked up! Then we really can’t put you on the market.”  

He laughs, slowly standing back up. He yanks on Hope’s curls, making her let out a pained gasp. He shuts the door to the room, leaving all alone, yet again.  Hope slowly climbs back onto the lumpy mattress, huddles herself, and quietly sobs herself to sleep. 

When she dreams, she dreams of an ambulance siren, and a gentle hand plays lovingly with her curls.

Hope spends three days in that room before Lambert opens the door again. He’s standing with someone she’s never seen before. He’s burly and taller than Lambert. He has a grown-out military cut – it was an odd color – Hope had never seen someone with hair as dark as his. It was dark, styled up, so it wouldn’t get in the way of his eyes. Hope looks into his eyes, there was something familiar about them, something unsettlingly familiar. It was when he turned his head to Lambert that Hope saw the silver streak he had in his hair, it ran from the left-side of his head to the back. And when he spoke, the voice made her tense, and she looks up towards the man with a confused expression etched into her small, tearful face.  

“So, you’re willing to pay right here and now right?”

The man hums, “Of course, but I want to speak with her,” His eyes crimson red, they narrowed at Lambert, lidded with annoyance. “So if you could?” He gestured toward the door.

Lambert huffs, “Yeah, alright ya freak. Don’t do anything weird until you pay, got it?”

When the door closes, the man lets out a growl, “Humans, absolute filth! How _detestable._ ” He turned slowly to Hope, his frown deepening. “So, you’ve ended up here.”

She nodded slowly.

“The Autobot,” The man raises his brow.

Hope’s eyes went round, her bottom lip wobbled ever-so-slightly. “No! No, don’t you _dare_ start crying! My circuits were fried for _hours_ , you pest!” He sneers. She nods, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears and snot from her face. “I’m assuming they aren’t treating you as well as the Chief Medical Officer, hm? Such a shame.”

Hope looks up to the man, “Can you take me to him?”

The man looks taken aback, but then allows a grin to form on his lips, “Bold of you to ask such a request,” He leans close to her small, reddened face. His voice was low with mockery when he asked: “And why, you brat, should I do that?”

Hope looks right into those red eyes, puffs her cheeks in thought, and says quietly, “‘cause I miss him…I really miss Ratch’…”

The man barks a laugh, “Well, isn’t that just sweet,” He lifts Hope up from the bed, and places her on his arm, “I won’t be taking you to him,” Hope opens her mouth to protest, but he continues, “But, if Soundwave’s plan goes accordingly, you two will be… _momentarily_ reacquainted.

“Ah, but there is one more thing,” He pauses right before the door, Hope sitting on his left arm, hands around his neck to balance, “I don’t use this HoloMatter often – I _usually_ refuse to partake in human activities – but since my legion can’t be graceful about _anything_ , I figured this was a mission I must place upon myself. Despite this,” He uses his free hand to pinch Hope’s cheek, “I want you to know clearly, I, Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Army – soon-to-be Ruler of Cybertron, saved you from this prison. Not the Chief Medical Officer, not the Autobots. _I did_.”

Hope pushes Megatron’s hand away, and meets his eyes, “ _Megatron_ ,” she mimics Ratchet’s scowl and says his name with confidence only a five-year-old could have.

Megatron chuckles, hand gripping the door handle, “Now, let’s get these vermin to know their place.”

It took Megatron a total of forty-five minutes to have Lambert’s hideout entirely in shambles. Hope had stayed on his arm the whole time, and every time she looked away from the violence, the gunshots, or the bones breaking – Megatron would tell her to look forward and look on in pride.

“There is power, little pest, and then there is those who can wield it,” He held Lambert’s face within his palm, holding the grown man dangling in the air, “Now, I’ve come to understand the last time you saw the ambulance, it was just thirty-miles south, correct?”

Lambert stutters, which is answered by Megatron’s snarled “ _Answer!”_

“It – Lord have mercy, please, please –“ Megatron’s grip tightens, making Lambert scream in pain. Hope tries to cover her ears, but Megatron orders her to listen to every crack of a bone and every whimper of fear. “I, I know he’s coming here for her! We were leading him here! I _promise!”_ Lambert screams, “Just please, _let me go_ , you can have the girl, the ambulance, the hideout, whatever! Just let me live!”

Megatron’s grip slackens slightly, and Lambert lets out a side of relief. He places Lambert on the ground, then slams his heel into the back of Lambert’s left knee. “I think,” Megatron’s eyes crinkle most deviously, “I think I’ll let someone else decide that.”

Megatron put enough force in his step to hold Lambert down, and while his anguish screams continue, Megatron looks to Hope. “Now, pest, should he live?” She looks at him with furrowed brows.

 “Think carefully,” Megatron’s eyes look bored as he glances at Lambert’s writhing body, it was almost as if he could take a nap amongst the continual screeches, “He has held you down, prided himself on his actions and reaped the rewards only for himself. Yet, now that there is someone who can overcome him, he’s lost his pride, and grovels at the chance to live. So, should. He. Live?”

Hope looks between the two. Her eyes have run out of tears and are swollen from rubbing them. Her voice had left her thirty minutes into the slaughter of the hideout. She witnessed so much and was just _so_ exhausted. She didn’t know what to think, what to do. All she wanted was Ratchet, but he wasn’t here. She looked at Lambert, sniveling and crying in pain, then to Megatron, who was surprisingly watching _her_. She couldn’t think of an answer, she couldn’t think of anything. Her hands hurt, her head hurt, _she was hurt_. So, she turns from Lambert and puts her head on Megatron’s shoulder. She closes her eyes, and soon Lambert’s screams stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been awhile! sorry, college is not an easy task! i'm glad i'm getting notifications on this story still, it's my personal favorite! i think this chapter is one of my favorite, purely because i want to develop a weird bond between Hope and Megatron. more so on his part than hers. 
> 
> megatron abt hope: "i just think she's neat!" (ratchet, loading a gun in the background lmao)is what i think the bond is going to be
> 
> anyways, if your a follower of my other Tf stories, Healing Palms will be updated next, then the big one, Sugar, Sugar! 
> 
> Till next time!


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